


The Last Bullet

by JJJunky



Category: Young Riders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue Indians make it unsafe for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Bullet

The Last Bullet  
By JJJunky

 

Even riding at top speed, smoke rising above the hill ahead caught the Kid's attention. His spirits dropped as he remembered the last time he'd witnessed a similar sight. Then, he had found Shaugnessy's relay station burned to the ground, its occupants and an Express rider dead. 

The Kid gently eased back on the reins, slowing Katy to a fast trot while mentally preparing himself for what he might find. Pushing his coat back, he unhooked the cover on his holster and made certain his gun would slip easily into his hand.

Cresting the hill, he pulled Katy to a stop. The scene was pretty much what he had anticipated. Quietly but methodically, Indians were destroying the station. Knowing he only had moments until his appearance would be noted, the Kid frantically searched for Jacobs and Tanner, the two men who staffed the isolated outpost.

"Kid!"

A low cry barely audible above the screaming triumph of the marauders and the crackling fire consuming the small shack, drew the Kid's attention. Tanner was tied spread-eagled against a corral that had once held some of the fastest mounts in the west. It was obvious the man was in agony. Blood blanketed his half-naked body.

"Run, Kid!"

Uncertain whether he should comply or continue on to help his friend, the Kid hesitated. An arrow passing uncomfortably close to his shoulder ended his indecision. To continue on would be nothing less than suicide. Reluctantly, he pulled on the reins turning Katy back the way they had come. An urgent plea, barely loud enough to be heard, made him pause.

"Kid, please! Shoot me first!"

Precious seconds passed as common sense fought with compassion. Easing his gun out of its holster the Kid aimed and fired. Another shot seemed to echo his own as he kicked Katy into a canter.

** ** **

"I'm tellin' ya, Jimmy, it won't work," Buck said.

"Why not? It worked for Teaspoon."

Firmly pressing oil into the leather of the bridle he was cleaning, Buck pointed out, "That's because Teaspoon didn't know what day he was born. It's easy to throw a surprise birthday party for someone who doesn't know what day it's gonna be. Emma knows when she was born."

"Well we gotta do somethin'," noted an exasperated Hickok. "We can't just let it pass unnoticed."

"You know it won't be . . ." A light touch on his shoulder made Buck pause. Ike's hands were moving rapidly through the signs the young Indian had taught him.

"What's he sayin'?" asked a frustrated Hickok.

"He says Cody and Lou are in Blue Creek right now checking out some horses," Buck translated.

"So what?"

"So, that's only part of what they're doin'. They're also lookin' to see if they can find somethin' special for Emma."

Teaspoon, his face plainly showing his displeasure, walked into the shadowed recesses of the barn where the boys were cleaning and mending the tack. "You might want to speak up. I don't think they can hear you in Sweetwater."

"Aw, Teaspoon," Hickok defended, "we gotta decide what we're gonna do. There's only two days left ta Emma's birthday."

"I know, Buck and Ike know, Emma certainly knows. You don't have to announce it to the world."

"Rider comin' in," Buck interrupted dropping the bridle on the bench and rising to his feet.

"What the hell?" muttered Teaspoon following the young Indian. "The Kid left a couple hours ago, and Monty isn't due in 'til late this afternoon."

Grateful for any excuse to stop working, Hickok happily dropped the harness he'd been cleaning and joined his friends outside. Shielding his eyes against the bright sun, he could see that whoever was approaching the station, they were in one all mighty hurry.

"It's the Kid!" Buck's keen eyes pierced through the sunlight and dust to identify the rider.

Finally able to see for himself, Hickok regarded the heavily lathered horse in amazement. Knowing the Kid's love for Katy, he knew something terrible must have happened for the Kid to have abused her in such a manner.

"What're you doin' back here, son?" asked Teaspoon his own confusion clearly audible.

"Indians raided Split Rock Station," the Kid breathlessly explained as he slid to the ground. "They were still there when I rode up."

"Did you see Tanner and Jacobs?"

"I saw Tanner." His hands visibly shaking, the Kid turned away and started to loosen Katy's cinch.

Placing a hand on his friend's arm to halt the action, Buck gently asserted, "I'll take care of Katy."

"Ike," pulling the mailbag from the dirty saddle, Teaspoon ordered, "get Baldy tacked. He's got the most stamina. You'll . . ."

"Why would Ike need a horse with a lot of stamina?" Emma interrupted crossing the dusty yard with a pitcher of lemonade.

Teaspoon ignored the young mute's questioning glance. Waving a hand, he commanded, "Go on, Ike."

As Ike raced away to saddle Baldy, Hickok reluctantly explained, "The Kid found Split Rock Station destroyed by Indians."

"That's terrible, but it doesn't tell me why Ike's saddlin' Baldy," Emma persisted.

"He's gonna have to take the long way around Split Rock," Teaspoon clarified. "And, there are no guarantees he'll find Rock Creek Station in any better condition."

The anger in Emma's voice made each word clear and distinct. "Two men are probably already dead. The Kid barely escapes with his life and you're sendin' another boy into the same danger."

"They knew the risks when they signed on," snapped Teaspoon, obviously holding his own temper with difficulty.

"When they signed on they were strangers you cared little about. Can you honestly say that's true now?"

"I can't afford to let my feelings interfere with the performance of my duty."

"A man who can do that has no heart."

Hickok was shocked by Emma's declaration. Softly he defended the older man, "It's our choice, too, Emma. We're not chained here; we could leave whenever we want."

"Could you, Jimmy?'

As Ike led a small appaloosa gelding up to the group, Hickok silently admitted Emma was right. He couldn't leave. Not because the job had become so important, but because the people had.

Handing Ike the mail pouch, Teaspoon cautioned, "Pace your self, son, and ride safe."

While Hickok held the bridle, Ike threw the pouch across the saddle. One hand firmly gripping the reins and his horse's mane, he quickly mounted. His seat had barely hit the saddle when Teaspoon slapped the appaloosa on the flank, sending the two flashing across the ground.

The anger gone from her voice Emma resignedly asked, "Now what?"

"Now," Teaspoon explained, "Jimmy's gonna ride into Sweetwater and tell the Marshal what's happened. He's also gonna contact Percy and Dobbs and see if they still want a job. While he's doin' that, Buck and I are gonna collect a new string for the Split Rock Station."

"So it's business as usual," Emma sarcastically noted.

"If the concept of the Pony Express is gonna work that's the way it's gotta be."

Her eyes defiantly meeting the older man's, Emma softly stated, "I wonder if you'll feel the same if anythin' happens to that boy?"

"If I don't, then I'll have to resign."

Fearful words would be exchanged that could damage if not destroy a friendship, the Kid interrupted, "We gotta get back to Split Rock, Teaspoon. We gotta find out what's happened to Jacobs."

"I'm afraid there's little doubt about that, son, but we'll be ready to ride as soon as Jimmy returns from Sweetwater. Why don't you go clean up and get some rest?"

The Kid suspiciously regarded the older man. "I'm comin' with ya."

"We'll see," Teaspoon compromised, "after Emma treats that wound in your side."

The shock of Teaspoon's revelation plainly written on her face, Emma quickly crossed to the Kid's side. Putting the forgotten lemonade on the ground, she gently examined the wound before shaking her head in relieved exasperation. "It doesn't look too bad but my prescription for recovery does not include a fifteen mile ride."

"Mine does," the Kid firmly stated. His face reflecting a combination of guilt and determination he repeated, "I'm goin."

## ## ##

A worried glance fell on a tired face as Teaspoon addressed the young women standing beside him. "Is the Kid well enough to ride?"

"Not really," Emma anxiously admitted, "the bullet barely creased his side. It's not a serious wound, but he should get a few days rest before he gets back in the saddle."

"Then I'll tell him, he's not goin'."

Emma put out a hand to stop the older man. "I don't think he'd listen, Mr. Spoon. Somethin' happened at Split Rock."

"What?"

"I don't know, he wouldn't talk about it. In fact he wouldn't talk about anything."

"That's not unusual for the Kid."

"It is this time. This isn't a silence of reserve but of guilt."

"What in the world could the Kid be guilty of?"

Emma thoughtfully shook her head. "To us probably nothing; to him it could mean the end of civilization."

Dust circled the couple as four riders pulled up a short distance away. His face still reflecting concern over the news Hickok had brought, Sam dismounted. "Where's the Kid, Teaspoon? I'd like to talk to him before we head out."

"He's with Buck over at the corral."

Laying a calloused hand on the marshal's arm, Emma pleaded, "Please, Sam, not now."

"It's my job, Emma."

"He can't tell ya anythin' you won't see for yourself in a little while."

Reluctantly, Sam nodded agreement. "All right, I'll let it go for now."

"Jimmy," Teaspoon ordered, "you better get yourself a fresh mount, then we'll be ready to go."

"W-what about u-us T-Teaspoon," asked Dobbs a stutter marking his lightly accented voice.

"Emma's collected our extra supplies. You might want to check 'em. Make sure you'll have everythin' you'll need to last a couple days. I should be able to get someone out with more provisions by the end of the week."

As he issued orders, Teaspoon outwardly showed none of the concern he'd felt since Emma's disclosure about the Kid. His eyes sought out the boy and studied the young face, just as a grimace twisted the haunted features. Somehow, Teaspoon knew the Kid's anguish was mental rather than physical. What could've happened at Split Rock to cause such distress?"

## ## ##

Dissipated smoke still drifted above the hill. The Kid stopped his horse and waited for the others to join him. Their progress had been considerably slower since each was leading two fresh mounts. Even Sam had pressed himself into service taking the two mounts the Kid had selected for himself. Gazing pointedly at the blood staining the blue cotton shirt, the marshal had ignored the Kid's offended protest.

A deep breath renewed the ache in his side, and reminded the Kid of how tired he was. His own discomfort paled however, when his eyes encountered the darkened skies above the hill. It was a grim reminder of what would be found when they reached the station.

"Buck," Teaspoon ordered, "you'd better scout the area before we go in. I'd rather not ride into the Kid's welcomin' committee."

Quickly looping the ropes of the two horses he'd been leading around his saddle horn, Buck dismounted. Handing his reins to the Kid, he silently disappeared up the hill.

Knowing he had only a short reprieve before Buck's return, the Kid fought to bolster his courage. He had thought this was what he wanted. Now that he was here, he wasn't so sure. Right now, he still wasn't certain it was his bullet that had killed Tanner. If it was he didn't know if he had the strength to endure the truth. Was he a compassionate benefactor or a common murderer?

"All clear, Teaspoon," said Buck. Reclaiming his reins, the Indian pulled himself back up onto the saddle.

As the group rode slowly over the hill, the Kid reluctantly followed. At the top, his eyes were drawn to the corral. Blood covered the still body of the station master. The ground around him was dark with the fluid that had once sustained his life. While Sam, Teaspoon, and Buck spurred their horses down to the stricken figure, Hickok, Percy, and Dobbs rode to the partially-burned station house. Their faces masked against what they were sure they'd find inside.

"Damn," Sam muttered, his face pale as he helped Buck cut the ties holding Tanner. "Why did they have to mutilate him? Why couldn't they just kill him?"

"This wasn't a simple act of murder, Sam," explained Buck.

The stubble of his beard prominent against his white face, Sam shook his head. "We must define murder differently then."

"What I mean," Buck clarified, "is it looks to me like Tanner was being sacrificed to the Mess-an-ha, the Great Dream Spirit."

Examining the body, Teaspoon nodded. "I've heard of the Mess-an-ha, but I thought the victim was supposed to slowly bleed to death as a way of obtaining a higher plain. It looks like Tanner died of a bullet to the heart."

"That can't be," said an obviously shocked Buck, "it would nullify the entire ritual. They wouldn't do that."

"They didn't," said the Kid, joining his friends. His face carefully blank, he confessed, "I did."

"You shot Tanner! Why?" asked a clearly puzzled Marshal.

Avoiding what he was sure were accusatory eyes, the Kid explained, "He begged me to, they were torturing him."

"You did the right thing, son," Teaspoon gently soothed.

"If that's true why do I feel like a murderer?"

"Because your mind hasn't convinced your heart, yet."

"We found Jacobs," Hickok called, his steps heavy as he walked slowly across to the corral. "It looks like he saved his last bullet for himself."

Throwing a blanket over the bloody body at his feet, Sam sadly noted, "It's too bad Tanner didn't do the same."

"It wouldn't have done him any good if he didn't have the courage to pull the trigger," Teaspoon pointed out.

"What could be worse that what he endured?"

"He didn't know what his fate would be at the time. There's always hope, a feeling of invincibility. That I can't die. Rescue has to come. Tanner was lucky he got a second chance when the Kid showed up and rescued him."

The Kid's shocked voice contradicted, "I killed him!"

"You released him. You had the courage he lacked."

"Courage!" The Kid laughed derisively. "If I'd had courage, I would've ridden down here and tried to save him instead of running away."

"Sometimes it takes more courage to turn your back on danger that it does to face it."

His voice echoing a desperate longing, the Kid whispered, "I wish I could believe that."

"You will in time," said Teaspoon confidently. "But right now we got work ta do around here. Jimmy, start repairin' this corral so we got somewhere to put these horses."

Clearly confused by the conversation he had just witnessed, Hickok's puzzled gaze stayed focused on the Kid as he nodded his assent. "Right away Teaspoon."

"Buck," with a compassionate glance at the morose young man at his side, Teaspoon enigmatically suggested, "get a couple of shovels and go behind the house. I'll get Dobbs or Percy ta give ya a hand."

"I'll help Buck," the Kid contradicted.

"Now, Kid, I don't think that's such a good idea."

Unbuckling his holster, the Kid threw it across his saddle. Without a word he pulled a shovel from one of the packs and walked toward the still smoldering building.

"Watch him, Buck," cautioned Teaspoon. "He shouldn't be ridin' with that side, much less diggin' graves. If he starts to look too sick, let me know. I'll tie him down if I have to."

A hammer in one hand and nails in the other, a clearly exasperated Hickok snapped, "Great, but before you do, could someone please tell me what the hell is goin' on?"

As Teaspoon started to explain what had transpired while Jimmy was searching for Jacobs, Buck reluctantly followed the same path his friend had walked only minutes before. He wasn't totally certain how the Kid would react to his presence. He had once heard Teaspoon say that people didn't always see different shades of red. In the past, the Kid had shown no prejudice towards the young Indian. But, it was also a past in which he had not been forced to kill a friend.

Mess-an-ha was not a concept widely accepted among Buck's people. Those who did were generally outcasts scorned for their beliefs. When he was young, Buck had shown a natural curiosity his brother had firmly discouraged. A certain fascination persisted, however, for it was only with the Mess-an-ha that the Lakota rode beside the Poncas and the Cheyenne beside the Crow.

Hesitantly approaching the Kid, Buck watched for a few minutes before silently joining his friend. His own movements were slower and more controlled.

Both boys dug several feet before the Kid paused. Wiping sweat off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he stared sightlessly across the grassy plain. "You shouldn't be here."

Disappointed that his friend apparently couldn't see past his red skin, Buck pointed out, "This is what Teaspoon ordered me to do."

"I don't mean you shouldn't be here digging," said the Kid, finally turning his gaze to let it rest on his companion. "I mean you shouldn't be alive."

"Why not?" Buck gently urged.

"Remember the time Ike was captured by the Kiowa's and we went to rescue him?"

"Yeah," said Buck fighting the memories of a pain that had been both physical and emotional.

"After you traded yourself for Ike, we stayed up in the hills and watched what they did to you. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to end your suffering, but Ike wouldn't let me."

"I would not have condemned you if you had."

"Don't you see, Buck, if it weren't for Ike, you'd be dead. Did I act too soon with Tanner? If I had waited, would he still be alive?"

"No!" Putting a hand on his friend's tense shoulder, Buck soothed, "Death by the Mess-an-ha is very slow and very painful. They would've taken Tanner back to their camp before completing the sacrifice. We would not have found him in time."

"He had no chance?" the Kid asked. clearly needing absolution.

Buck nodded his head in reassurance. "None."

"I hope one of these days I can believe that."

"I hope if I'm ever in a similar situation, I have a friend who has the courage to set me free just as you did Tanner."

"What do you mean set him free?"

"Those who follow Mess-an-ha believe that when a victim's blood soaks into the ground it makes it sacred. The spirit of the sacrifice flows with the blood and is captured by the Great Dream Spirit where it is condemned to do his bidding for eternity. You ended Tanner's physical life, but you saved his spirit from eternal bondage."

"What will the Mess-an-ha do now?"

"To be one with the Dream Spirit they must offer another sacrifice."

The Kid sadly shook his head as he silently returned to his digging. One foot pushing the shovel deep into the ground, he suddenly stopped, his face and voice revealing his horror and fear. "Emma!"

His own movements arrested, Buck watched his friend race across to the corral. Jumping into the saddle, the Kid kicked his horse into motion. The dust had barely settled before Buck was racing across to his own horse. He had the reins in one hand and the other hand on the horn when he was suddenly pulled to a stop.

"What the hell's goin' on?" demanded Teaspoon. "Where's the Kid goin' in such a hurry?"

"Home!"

Hickok shook his head. "That don't make sense. He was the one who was in such an all fired hurry to get here."

"It's the Mess-an-ha," Buck breathlessly explained. "They're gonna be lookin' for another sacrifice and Emma's alone." Tugging his arm free, Buck jumped into the saddle only seconds ahead of Hickok and the Marshal.

Teaspoon quickly crossed to his horse mounting the agitated animal with difficulty. Above the noise of pounding hooves he called, "Percy, Dobbs, you're on your own. I'll send supplies as soon as I can."

## ## ##

Gunshots echoed around her as Emma quickly reloaded her rifle and pointed it at an Indian attempting to jump his horse over the small picket fence circling the house. Squeezing the trigger, she ignored the falling body and swung her gun around searching for another target. A momentary pause in the attack allowed her time to glance across at the small figure crouching at the window paralleling her own. "You all right, Lou?"

"So far," nodded Lou, efficiently reloading her gun. "From the sound of it, I'd say Cody's holding his own in the barn, too."

"I wish he'd had time to come in here with us."

"We can't do anything to save the horses in the corral but at least Cody can guard the ones in the barn."

"Here they come again," warned Emma. Raising her rifle, she forced herself to calmly wait for a clear target before gently squeezing the trigger.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air when Lou suddenly announced, "There's a rider comin' in."

"Oh, my God!"

"It's the Kid," Lou cried the fear in her voice clearly audible.

Emma pulled the trigger with renewed purpose. The accuracy of each shot was no longer important. It was only important that they provide enough covering fire to allow the Kid time to safely reach the bunkhouse or barn.

A horse's scream drew her attention away from the primary target. Emma watched in horror as the Kid's wounded horse stumbled before finally collapsing partially on top of its rider. Bullets fell uselessly as the marauders halted the attack and triumphantly circled the trapped boy.

Unconcerned with her own safety, Emma hurried from the house. Peripherally aware of Lou and Cody joining her, she desperately fired her rifle as she ran. In numbing disbelief she watched two Indians pull the Kid free of the stricken animal. Binding his hands they threw him across the back of a horse before disappearing as suddenly as they'd appeared.

"Kid! Kid!" Lou screamed racing into the cloud of dust marking the group's passage.

"Lou, come back." When her frantic call failed to halt the young girl's heedless rush, Emma shouted, "Lulabelle!"

The tone of voice plus the seldom heard endearment finally penetrated Lou's hysteria. Forcing back tears that filled her eyes and her heart, she said, "We gotta go after 'em, Emma."

"Not alone."

As Lou started to protest, Cody pointed to the dust rising a short distance away. "I think reinforcements are on the way."

Emma carefully positioned herself in front of Lou, blocking Teaspoon's view of the distraught young "boy" and absently listened as Cody explained what had happened. Concern for Lou had momentarily blocked her own shock at the Kid's abduction. Now she couldn't seem to stop the trembling in her hands or the tears filling her eyes. A warm hand on her arm made her jump.

"Emma, are you all right?"

In a voice that cracked with fear, Emma asked, "What're they gonna do to the Kid, Sam?"

"I don't know," the marshal evasively replied.

"Tell me!" ordered Emma, the quiver gone from her voice. "The reality can't be any worse than my imagination."

Gently Teaspoon explained, "Buck thinks this is a renegade band of Indians who follow the teaching of Mess-an-ha, a religion that embodies sacrificial rites."

"Is that what they did to Tanner and Jacobs?"

"Jacobs killed himself, and the Kid shot Tanner before the ritual was completed."

"That's why they came here. They needed another sacrifice," Buck said. "When they captured the Kid, they got what they wanted."

One arm gently supporting the young woman beside him, Sam shook his head. "After what they did to Tanner, I don't understand why the Kid didn't save a bullet for himself."

"I think he did," Hickok contradicted. Rising to his feet from where he'd been kneeling next to the dead horse, Hickok held out the abandoned weapon he'd discovered. "It looks like his gun jammed."

"Then I guess we're gonna hafta be the Kid's last bullet, boys." Military training could be heard in Teaspoon's barked commands, "Cody, you and Buck saddle some fresh mounts. Jimmy and Lou make up bedrolls while I collect provisions."

His arm dropping back to his side, Sam stepped away from Emma. "I'm comin', too, Teaspoon."

"Be proud ta have ya, Marshal."

Concern creasing his face, Sam suggested, "You better wait in town 'til we get back Emma. I don't want you out here alone again."

"You can't feed and water stock from town," Emma pointed out.

"Hang the animals," Sam growled, "your life is more important."

"I don't agree."

To forestall the battle he saw brewing between the young couple, Teaspoon indicated, "One of the boys'll stay with Emma. How 'bout it, Jimmy?"

Hickok pushed his hands into his pockets and backed away. Throwing an apologetic look at Emma, he protested, "It can't be me, Teaspoon. I gotta go." His frantic search for an excuse obvious, Jimmy triumphantly declared, "You need me; I'm the best shot."

"Though it's difficult for me to admit it, you do have a point. Since we need Buck's tracking skills, Cody, it looks like it's between you and Lou."

"Lou'll stay with me," Emma quickly asserted.

"Emma's made her choice. Cody, you're off the hook. Now let's get to work; that trail's gettin' cold."

As the others moved away to complete their tasks, Lou angrily turned on Emma. "Why did you do that? You know how I feel about the Kid."

Silently, Emma led the way back into the house before turning to face the angry young girl. "It's precisely because of those feelings that I don't think you should go. If they don't find the Kid in time, I don't want what they find to be your last memory of him."

Emma knew she didn't need to be more explicit. The tears Lou had been suppressing finally fell. In this particular instance, Emma was certain any attempt to comfort the grieving young girl would be rebuffed. Reluctantly, she walked out of the house. For some, solace could only be found in solitude.

## ## ##

Frustrated, Buck kicked at a clump of dirt lying at his feet. His horse remained remarkably calm during his unusual display of temper. Barely able to make out the vague outlines of the others astride their horses, the young Indian admitted, "It's no use, Teaspoon, I've lost the trail."

"Easy, son, don't take it so hard," soothed the older man. "I'm not surprised it's darker than a bear's stomach. We'll camp here for the night. You'll find the trail again in the mornin'."

Hickok angrily shook his head. "We don't have time to stop, there's no tellin' what they're doin' to the Kid."

"How exactly do you suggest we follow a trail we can't see?"

Hesitantly at first then with more conviction, Hickok said, "Torches! I've followed a trail by torchlight before."

"Why don't ya just send out invitations and ask the Mess-an-ha to tea?" Teaspoon disgustedly replied. "I'm sure they'd be very happy to have five more sacrifices."

"Well I can't jus' sit here and do nothin'."

Teaspoon dismounted. Pulling his saddle off the exhausted mare he led the horse to a nearby tree. "You're not gonna be doin' nothin'. When you're not keepin' watch you'll be sleepin'."

"Who can sleep?" asked Jimmy. as he reluctantly tied his own horse next to Cody's.

"If you want to help the Kid tomorrow, you better. Depending on how close we get, it'll be you or Cody who'll have to do the job."

"What job?"

Teaspoon's carefully modulated voice explained, "One of you will have to be the Kid's last bullet."

Realization slowly dawned, causing both boys to back away. Breathing heavy as though he'd just run a long way, Cody's voice cracked as he protested, "You ain't askin' us ta kill the Kid, are ya, Teaspoon?"

"What the hell do you think we're doin' out here? This ain't a rescue mission, son. The Mess-an-ha outnumber us ten to one. We won't be able to save the Kid's life, but we can end his torment. Jimmy, didn't you say you needed to come because you were the best shot?"

"That's not what I meant." For the first time since he'd strapped on a handgun, Jimmy hated the hard steel pressing against his hip. Cursing the day he'd learned to shoot, he whispered, "Emma was right. You don't have a heart."

Straightening his shoulders Teaspoon pointed out, "I told you before we left what we were going to do."

"I didn't think you meant it. I can't do it, Teaspoon," Jimmy defiantly stated, "and you can't make me."

"I thought you were the Kid's friend?"

"That's why I can't do it."

Cody nodded in agreement. "Neither can I."

"You'd rather see him suffer?" asked Teaspoon.

Indecision clearly marked both young faces. Hickok finally admitted, "Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could pull the trigger."

"He wouldn't blame you," Buck quietly confided.

"How can you know that?"

"I just do."

"You don't have to live with my conscience."

## ## ##

He was scared. In all his life, he couldn't remember ever being this scared. Dawn announced the beginning of a new day. It was a prospect that alarmed him more than reassured him. He knew this day would see his death. Strangely, this was not an outcome he feared any longer. He'd discovered there were worse things than dying.

All night long, they had appeared out of the darkness to taunt him either physically or verbally. With their faces painted in grotesque designs, it felt as though demons from hell were trying to steal his soul.

The guilt he had suffered over Tanner's death no longer haunted him. He would not wish this torment on any other living creature. It was a misfortune he himself would've avoided if his gun hadn't jammed. Teaspoon had been right. He'd had a feeling of invincibility. He couldn't die, so he had waited too long. When his gun jammed he didn't have time to clear it before the Indians were upon him.

He wasn't a fatalist, but he was a realist. He didn't want to die. But, more specifically, he didn't want to die like this. He wasn't sure how much more he could endure before he lost control. A man deserved to end his life with dignity and respect. Again Teaspoon's words filled his mind: "Self-respect is something no one can take away from you. It goes clear to the bone."

For once, Teaspoon was wrong. Right now, his self-respect, like his clothes lay in tatters around him cut by knives that had sliced through his body as easily as they had the thin cotton. He knew the physical wounds weren't serious a fact that was more a curse than a blessing. However, the emotional cuts had gone deeper, making him question his own worth.

Footsteps approached him from behind. His stomach knotted with fear, muscles involuntarily tensing against the pain he knew would come. Sweat beaded on his arms and legs and rolled into the open wounds. Its natural salt burned a fire across his body.

"You have caused us much trouble."

The Kid was momentarily shocked speechless. Most of the night his captors had communed with their Dream Spirit, ignoring him except as a tool to test the sharpness of their blades and their tongues. Determined to rebuild the self-respect he felt he'd lost, the Kid joked, "I do my best."

"You took one who belonged to Mess-an-ha. Now it is your blood, your soul, he craves."

"Well he's certainly getting the blood," the Kid ruefully noted. "My soul, however, will belong to my God."

"You may not believe in the Mess-an-ha, now. But soon your soul will share the torment of your living body and you will believe."

"Suffering does not command obedience."

"Believe as you will, White Eyes. Mess-an-ha triumphs in the end."

As he watched the slim, well built Indian walk away the Kid contradicted, "Not this time pal."

## ## ##

Buck shielded his eyes against the glare of the new sun. As Teaspoon had predicted, he'd rediscovered the trail. Triumphantly, he mounted his horse. "This way."

"That way doesn't look exactly safe," Cody warned, pointing to the Indians appearing through the trees.

"Buck, tell them we're not looking for trouble," advised Sam.

"I'll tell them. Let's hope it makes a difference."

Riding ahead of his friends, Buck cautiously approached the large band of Indians. Their lives could depend not only on what he said but how he said it. Puzzled by the fact that the band appeared to be comprised of Kiowa and Lakota, he spoke in a language that had not passed his lips for many months. The conversation wasn't long, but it was enlightening. A smile on his face, Buck returned to his friends.

"I take it that smile means we're not gonna end up scalps on somebody's belt," said Teaspoon.

"It looks as though the Mess-an-ah haven't been very discriminating," Buck explained. "They've been sacrificing Indian as well as white."

"Is that unusual?" asked Cody.

Buck nodded. "None of our religions believe in human sacrifice. We use tobacco for sacred purposes or throw objects into fires."

"I've also heard that leaving rocks at a certain spot is a sacred symbol," added Teaspoon.

"That's right," Buck agreed. "Self-inflicted wounds are acceptable, too, but the taking of another's life is not. There would always be the fear that the Ghost Spirit would return to claim your soul."

Glancing apprehensively at the colorful sight in front of him, Sam kept his voice low, "So what exactly does all this mean to us?"

"It means they're after the Mess-an-ha, too," Buck happily explained, "and they're willing to let us join them."

His voice gruff with suppressed emotion, Teaspoon growled, "Well, Jimmy, Cody, it looks like you might not have to be the Kid's last bullet after all."

## ## ##

Tilting his hat to protect him from the noon day sun, Jimmy glanced uneasily around him. To Buck, Teaspoon, and Sam, there new companions were the Kid's salvation. To Jimmy they were an unpredictable element, and if there was one thing he didn't like, it was the unknown. Only Cody appeared unaffected by what had transpired. In fact, Jimmy thoughtfully realized, the normally smiling face had been an expressionless mask the entire day.

Afraid any sudden movement would alarm the Indians, Hickok cautiously eased his horse over next to his friend's. "You all right, Cody?"

"Yeah?"

The brevity of the response and the brisk tone in which it was spoken surprised Hickok. "Talk to me, Cody."

"Whaddya wanna talk about? Which one of us will have the honor of shooting the Kid?" Cody bitterly snapped.

"We've got help now. It may not come to that."

"What if it does?" appealed Cody. "Could you do it?"

"What difference does it make? I don't have to." Jimmy turned his glance forward, avoiding the beseeching eyes.

"Could you?"

"This isn't a dime novel, Cody. The good guy doesn't always win in real life."

"Could you?" Cody persisted.

Jimmy closed his eyes as he finally admitted, "No." 

"Even if what the Mess-ah-ha are doing to him is worse than death?"

"Even then."

"I couldn't either," Cody admitted, self-loathing audible in his voice. "Some friends we are, huh?"

Exasperated Hickok demanded, "Why are you torturing yourself over somethin' you probably won't have to face?"

"I've never felt so mixed up. I know right from wrong, good from bad. I know it's wrong ta kill, but is it right to let someone . . ." Cody hesitated before finally continuing, "Is it right to let a friend suffer before he dies?"

"I don't know. I only know that I would kill for him, but I can't kill him."

Laying a hand on the butt of his rifle Cody asked, "When the Kid killed Tanner, do you think he felt the same way we do now?"

"No!" Hickok knew with certainty that as guilty as the Kid had felt, the pain couldn't possibly have been as intense.

"Why not?"

"The relationship was different."

Jimmy kicked his horse forward and didn't stop until he was as far from Cody as he could get. He didn't need all this soul searching. What he did need he couldn't even admit to himself much less to Cody.

## ## ##

Pain had been the only thing he was aware of for so long, it took a while for the gunshots and the confusion milling around him to register. Straining against the force of gravity, he tried to raise his head, imagined fear harder to bear than any substantive fear could ever be.

A soothing hand on a burning shoulder; the reassuring tones of a familiar voice in his ear; the ropes binding his hands and feet being cut away; all ingredients in a fantasy of his mind's creation. The hand could not be Jimmy's. The voice could not be Cody's and the knife cutting him free could not be Buck's. Was it his God who had sent these wonderful delusions or was it the Mess-an-ha exacting a torture beyond all endurance? The Kid knew that when these images disappeared, as they must, his sanity would disappear with them.

Gradually the sounds of guns firing and the cry's of pain became indistinct, muffled. Was this what it was like to die? He had always believed that when you died, life ended abruptly with or without your conscious knowledge. But for him, it seemed to be fading away like a leaf floating down a slow flowing steam.

Despite all the pain, physical and emotional, he suddenly knew he didn't want to die. Through bruised and swollen lips, he prayed to a God he wasn't sure could hear him. "Please, I'm not ready to go yet."

## ## ##

The sounds of battle could no longer be heard but Jimmy knew it would be a long time before the screams stopped echoing in his head. "Did they have to kill the women and children, too, Teaspoon?"

The older man tiredly sighed, pausing in his ministrations to the unconscious boy beneath his hand. "When a wound becomes infected, you have to cut out the bad spot."

"What's that got to do with anything?" snapped Hickok in exasperation.

"Belief in the Mess-an-ha is like a disease. If even a speck of it was left, it could grow and re-infect the wound."

"But the babies?" Jimmy shook his head in puzzlement. "Couldn't they at least have been spared?

Returning to his task, Teaspoon gently wiped the blood off a still bleeding cut on the Kid's left leg. "Right now I can't answer that objectively."

"Is the Kid gonna be all right, Teaspoon?" Cody hesitantly asked.

Jimmy anxiously waited for the answer. Compassion for the murdered children died a slow death as his eyes fell upon the brutalized flesh of his friend.

"He's strong, I think he'll make it," Teaspoon encouraged. "Thankfully, none of these cuts seem to be very deep. Once he's in Emma's capable hands, I'm sure he'll recover nicely. Which will happen that much quicker if you two would help Buck build that travois."

Taking the hint, Hickok followed Cody over to where Buck was busy attaching a blanket to a long pole. Sounds of the battle no longer echoed into the valley where they had taken refuge to treat the Kid's wounds. Though the cries were no longer carried by the wind, they still resonated in his memories and Jimmy knew they always would.

One hand holding the edge of the blanket so Buck could tie it down, Hickok glanced up at Cody's dejected features. Exasperated, he demanded, "Now what's botherin' ya, Cody?"

Apparently surprised by the question, Cody hedged, "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"It's the Kid."

"I sorta had that part of it figured out already."

Buck stopped tying the rope to throw a disgusted look at Hickok. "What's botherin' ya about the Kid, Cody?"

"They hurt him." Hesitantly Cody admitted, "I think. . . I think maybe I could've pulled the trigger after all."

"You dare to call yourself his friend," Hickok gasped shocked by the revelation.

"Do you think it would've been easier to stand there and watch them torture him to death?" demanded Buck. "Death is not always undesirable."

"Tell that to those women and children," snapped Hickok, gesturing back down the trail.

"They died for their beliefs. A sacrifice they were willing to make," explained Buck. "They died quickly and with honor. A privilege they did not accord the Kid. They wanted him to die for a god he didn't believe in."

His voice hopeful, Cody asked, "Buck, if we hadn't been able to save the Kid, could you've pulled the trigger?"

"Yes," Buck nodded unhesitatingly, "he's my friend."

"He's my friend, too," Jimmy protested in self defense.

"Then we apparently have different definitions of the word," Buck calmly pointed out.

"This is crazy! Are you tryin' to tell me I'm not his friend 'cause I couldn't kill him?"

"No, all I'm sayin' is a friend doesn't stand beside you only when it's convenient. Did you ever once ask yourself what the Kid would've wanted?"

Hickok's hands fell loosely to his side. Rising to his feet he slowly backed away self loathing clearly apparent. He suddenly realized Buck was right. He had been selfish. He hadn't wanted to face a life that didn't include his friend. He had been willing to allow the Kid to suffer physically, rather than emotional destroy himself. As he slowly walked away, he heard Cody call after him.

"Jimmy?"

"Leave him be, Cody," Buck softly advised. "It's not easy to discover you're human."

## ## ##

Uncharacteristically conscientious, Jimmy carefully hung up the bridle he'd oiled. Picking up a dirty harness, he returned to sit on the bench, a sense of deja vu setting his nerves on edge. This was where he'd been a week ago when the Kid had returned from Split Rock Station. He knew he would never forget the three days that followed. Almost every night since, he had laid awake at night listening to the other riders' steady, slow breathing. Isolating the five distinctive patterns, he felt inordinately grateful for each one.

The sound of soft, shuffling steps echoed slightly in the vast recesses of the barn, making him pause. Desperately, he searched for a way out, a way to avoid the coming confrontation. Rising to his feet, he forced a smile to his lips. Trying to appear as though he had a definite purpose in mind, he briskly walked across the barn. "How ya doin', Kid?"

Without waiting for an answer, he attempted to rush past when a hand on his arm pulled him up. There was no strength in the grip, but fear of damaging the fragile, healing body made Hickok stop.

"Don't run away from me, Jimmy," the Kid softly requested.

"Who's runnin'? Everythin's all set for Emma's belated surprise birthday party this afternoon and--"

Obviously holding his temper with difficulty, the Kid interrupted, "That's not what I mean and you know it. What did I do to make you so mad at me?'

"I ain't mad."

"Come on, Jimmy! You talked to me more after I slugged you to stop that gunfight with Longley than you do now."

"I tell ya I ain't mad."

"Buck thinks it might have something ta do with what he said to you after I was rescued."

Tugging his arm free, Hickok walked back to the bench and picked up the harness. "Buck sure has a big mouth."

"Not as big as you think. He wouldn't tell me what it was he said."

"You mean no one's told you what a lousy friend I am?" Angrily wiping the harness, Hickok avoided meeting the Kid's eyes. "They didn't tell you I'm so selfish I would've watched them torture you to death rather than end your torment myself."

Exasperation flashing across his face, the Kid followed Hickok, sitting heavily on the end of the bench. "I already had this talk with Buck and Cody. I don't put guidelines on friendship, Jimmy. Just because they could've set me free and you couldn't doesn't make you any less of a friend."

Curious despite himself, Hickok stopped cleaning the harness. "What do you mean 'set you free'?"

"It was something Buck said I did when I shot Tanner. He said my action prevented Tanner's soul from being possessed by the Mess-an-ha."

"You don't believe in that junk do you?"

"I don't know anymore," the Kid admitted. "But I do know that when you're tortured, you feel more than physical pain. All through that night, I prayed for rescue even though I was sure my only release would be found in death."

"That's understandable."

As if he hadn't heard, the Kid thoughtfully continued, "I don't feel guilty about killing Tanner anymore because I know that when he begged me to shoot him, he'd reached his level of endurance. Death was preferable to pain and humiliation."

"Did you ever reach that level?" asked Hickok, not really sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I thought I had, but when it looked as though I was finally going to be set free, I begged for life not death."

"Even though that life was unending pain?"

"Crazy, huh?"

"Not comin' from you."

"You reach a point where it's not the dyin' that scares ya so much as the waitin'. I don't think any less of Tanner's or Jacobs' courage," the Kid hastily added. "But I do know one thing: I won't be savin' the last bullet for myself in future."

"What if someone asks you to be their last bullet?"

"I'd do it."

"I guess you know how to be a friend."

"It's got nothin' to do with friendship, Jimmy. It would be just as hard to pull the trigger on a stranger as on a friend."

"Then why can't I? It's not like I've never killed a man before."

"You've only ever killed in self-defense," the Kid explained. "You're not a murderer?"

"Neither are you. I've never seen anyone who feels so guilty after shootin' someone, even though they're tryin' ta kill you."

"It's not so much guilt as regret. You've known the feeling yourself."

"It still doesn't explain why I can't be someone's last bullet," said Hickok disgustedly.

"It really doesn't matter that you can't or why you can't. You're James Butler Hickok not William F. Cody or Buck Cross or Ike McSwain or Lou McCloud. We're each unique with different beliefs, different insights, different motivations. Don't try to be someone you're not Jimmy. Our friendship isn't the same as mine and Lou's or--"

"You're damn right," Hickok snorted.

Smiling the Kid continued, "Or mine and Cody's or mine and Buck's. That's the way it should be. I'm glad they didn't, but if they had killed me, I wouldn't have condemned them. Anymore than I would condemn you because you couldn't."

Apparently satisfied he had said everything he could to convince Hickok, the Kid rose to his feet. "I gotta get back to the bunkhouse. Teaspoon left me ta protect the cake."

"In that case I better come with ya." Feeling more at ease with his friend, Hickok dropped the harness. "I just heard Cody ride in. Ya might need reinforcements."


End file.
